


then march this heathen company

by Eisoj5



Category: Perilous Gard - Elizabeth Marie Pope
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28146513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisoj5/pseuds/Eisoj5
Summary: Christmastime at the manor was, of course, never going to be a sedate affair, once Kate’s family became involved.
Relationships: Christopher Heron/Kate Sutton, Kate Sutton & Alicia Sutton
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	then march this heathen company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tequila_Mockingbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tequila_Mockingbird/gifts).



Christmastime at the manor was, of course, never going to be a sedate affair, once Kate’s family became involved. 

Kate, personally, would have liked to do little more than roast a wild goose one night and drink hippocras by the fire most others. But once her father and Sir Geoffrey had written to accept the invitations she had dutifully sent out, and then subsequently arrived with all of her nearest relations, there was no stopping the transformation of their modest home into a full festival affair for nearly the entire _month_ of December. 

Greenery hung from the doorways: holly, ivy, pine branches, even a kissing bough, beneath which Christopher delighted in catching her off-guard. A Yule log burned steadily in the hearth in the great room, tall white candles burned in every window, and when she came back from collecting eggs from the hens in the mornings, stamping snow from her boots, Kate had to admit it was altogether pleasantly warm all of the time, if quite expensive. 

Christopher teased her about the wild goose she would have settled for, once Dorothy and Susan arrived with Sir Geoffrey, armed with rolling pins and handed-down family recipes for mince pies and gingerbread. Her father and mother brought oranges and apricots like jewels, and far too many sweetmeats for Cecily. 

And Alicia—

Alicia brought news of London, although it was perhaps rightly called gossip. Kate was, at first, unsurprised to hear of the latest fashions, to be shown the boxes of new shoes Alicia had brought but could not in good conscience wear around the manor _in the mud_ , or be told at great length about the latest engagements of her friends and what was in their dowries. 

(Strangely, Alicia was not engaged herself, a fact which their mother persisted in raising at nearly every meal together. 

“I should not like to be married,” Alicia had said, making a face in Kate’s direction, “unless he is someone like your sweet Christopher.” 

Kate had managed to turn her snort of laughter into a cough, but only just, especially as she caught her mother eyeing Sir Geoffrey speculatively.)

Kate _was,_ however, quite surprised when Alicia pressed a fresh copy of _The Mirror for Magistrates_ into her hands when she finally got around to giving Kate her gifts. It was very political, wholly unlike the romances Alicia had once loved, and it set Kate to wondering about how her flighty sister had changed over the past year in Queen Elizabeth’s court. Her gossip _also_ sometimes tended towards the random cruelties she had observed this or that Lady doing to her maids, or how a Lord she had once thought highly of had spat on a beggar in the street. It put Kate in mind of the letter Alicia had written to Queen Mary earnestly, if stupidly, protesting their conditions at Hatfield, but there was something new about how Alicia spoke her mind, something more thoughtful. 

“—and it is nearly Christmas, so everyone ought to be nicer to their tenants anyway,” she finished, after dinner on the twenty-first, when they were all gathered merrily around the hearth drinking mulled wine and eating the fruit before it began to spoil. She looked imploringly at Kate at the chessboard with their father, and then down at Christopher playing marbles with Cecily and Susan’s boy on the rug. “ _You_ would at least invite your tenants to a banquet and wassail, if you had any, wouldn’t you?”

“Alicia,” their mother sighed. 

“Yes,” Kate said, decisively. 

“If we had any,” Christopher added. His gray eyes twinkled up at Kate. 

Alicia smiled at them contentedly, and ate another slice of her orange. 

“Let’s have a story before Cecily has to go to bed,” Sir Geoffrey said. “Something of the season, perhaps?” 

Sir Thomas moved a knight—Kate frowned at it, suspecting a trap—and said, “Why not? I think I can spin a tale and win this match at the same time. Since it is the twenty-first, shall I tell of King Arthur and his knights riding tonight?” 

“Only if you don’t make it too frightening for Cecily to hear.” Lady Sutton gave an elegant little shudder. 

“Very well,” Sir Thomas agreed. He looked down over the chessboard at Cecily and began to tell her about King Arthur gathering his loyal knights and hounds to ride to hunt on the longest, darkest, coldest night of the year. 

Kate only partly listened, as her father simultaneously continued his clever moves on the board and she was forced to defend and counter, until Christopher said, “You mean to describe the Wild Hunt, Sir Thomas.” There was a sharp note in his voice Kate had not heard in over a year, and she put down her queen to stare curiously at him. 

“It is called by that name,” her father said, dismissively. “A heathen version, with their heathen gods leading the charge. Or ghosts, if you like. King Arthur risen from the grave.” 

Kate stared at Christopher. He was mostly composed but a little pale, his lips pressed into a line, and she knew they must be thinking of _the heathen gods_ in the same way. 

“Tonight, as the stories go, it’s better to stay in with our hearths and warm beds. But if you meet the knights riding out the road, in the cold and under the stars, stand to the middle to let them pass safely by, or you might be swept up in the chase, and wake miles from home,” Sir Thomas said, evidently unaware of the effect his tale was having on his eldest daughter and son-in-law. Or Sir Geoffrey, whose face had grown sterner as Kate’s father spoke, and who looked ready to take Cecily by the hand and lock her safely in her bedroom. 

Alicia also seemed not to notice anything amiss, saying, “But I thought King Arthur would only return from his enchanted tomb when England needs him most, and surely with Queen Elizabeth elevated now, there would be no reason for him to come?” 

“Perhaps not.” Sir Thomas smiled at her and moved a pawn. “Checkmate, my girl.” 

Kate jerked her head back down to their game and groaned. 

As she reset the board, she watched her husband and his brother out of the corner of her eye. Sir Geoffrey sent Cecily off to bed with Susan, and then stood with Christopher by the window, talking quietly. The other Suttons said their goodnights, while Kate pretended to linger for the sake of one last glass of wine. 

Sir Geoffrey nodded at her, once, and then she was alone in front of the fire with Christopher. 

Kate drew a breath and tried to calm herself. “They’ll seize on any chance to come out,” she said. “Tonight must be one of their nights. Not—not a dancing night.” 

Christopher kissed her, and squeezed her good hand in his. “It will be all right. You heard your father. They’ll ride out on the road to hunt, and not come onto our land. _Our_ land, you hear me? Not theirs. Not anymore.” 

*

She awoke in the middle of the night at first certain that she had only dreamt the baying of dogs and the sound of a horn. 

It was exactly the kind of thing that would creep into her mind after the tale she had only partly listened to, and at any rate, Christopher had not stirred at all beside her under the covers. But as she lay there in the thick warm darkness of their bed, willing her body to relax into sleep again, she heard it again, distantly: a long pure note of a horn. 

If she had been born into a different time, Kate supposed she might have thought it a call to attack, and then promptly gotten out of bed to rouse the household to arms. There was little chance of that, though, not on the night of the solstice, deep into the winter. Not when Kate knew how much truth legends could contain. Though her heart beat faster as she listened to the wind rising through the trees in the orchard and carrying the other eerie sounds to her chambers, Kate snorted to herself. If she had encountered any true spirits or the wakeful dead on that fateful All Hallow’s Eve a year prior, she might have credited her father’s tale more, instead of worrying about the Fairy Folk. 

She shut her eyes, found Christopher’s hand under the covers, and laced their fingers together so she would know if he woke to the call and tried to go out to them. He was unlikely to, but he was—or had been—a lord of the land, and that power probably still tempted whichever leader of the Fairy Folk rode at the head of the Hunt. 

The sound of a door closing somewhere in the house drew her sharply out of her thoughts. Kate frowned and strained to listen. It was not the heavy tread of her father on the steps, but the footfalls _were_ familiar—

“Oh, no,” muttered Kate. 

Alarmed and more than a little annoyed, she pushed out of the heavy curtains surrounding their bed and into the faint moonlight. It took but a moment to confirm her suspicions out of the window, and though she did not want to lose a single second, she dressed as warmly as she could and laced up her boots properly; there was no sense in tripping over herself in pursuit. 

When she glanced through the gap in the hangings, Christopher remained sound asleep in the bed, his face slack and peaceful, and for that she was profoundly grateful. There was no need to shake him awake and bring him into danger. 

The rest of the household and their guests were largely silent, as Kate hurried through the darkened house, though not eerily so. Her father’s snores rose and fell with the same regularity she remembered from her childhood. She lit a lantern, went out into the garden, through the orchard, and down past the stables. Once she passed the frozen-over duck pond, she saw her quarry straightaway, crossing the bridge and wandering slowly down the road in the direction of the horn and the dogs. 

She hurried after, calling, “Alicia!” 

Her sister turned, golden like a promise of summer against the snow, and Kate’s heartbeat slowed a fraction. She had not been deafened by some enchantment. 

“Alicia, it’s the middle of the night,” said Kate, as she reached out and caught her by the elbow. She tried to sound calm and rational, though that approach had not had a particularly successful history behind it. “It’s the middle of the night, and it’s absolutely freezing! _What_ are you doing out here? I know you know Father’s story wasn’t—wasn’t real—and besides, it’s dangerous,” she finished, awkwardly. 

“I’ve stayed to the middle of the road,” said Alicia, with a slight pout. 

Kate looked around. “That’s true,” she conceded, warily. “But why did you come out?”

“I heard the horn,” said Alicia. She raised her arm to point out into the woods, where Kate now saw torches glowing orange in the darkness, and a chill that was not from the night air and the wind picking up around them went through her. “It woke me, and I thought it was calling to me—don’t scowl at me so, Kate! You will spoil your matronly dignity.” 

“My _what?”_ sputtered Kate, and then, recovering herself as the horn sounded again, much closer, “You can see them from inside—it _isn't_ King Arthur and his knights, it—it can’t be. Come back to the house.”

“I’ve already come out so far, and now I have you here to keep me safe,” Alicia said, blinking her enormous golden eyes.

Kate gritted her teeth. “You never think about how things might turn out badly, even if it isn’t the Hunt and is just a roving band of brigands. And—and _my_ presence could make things worse, Alicia, come back to the house.” 

But it was too late. The dogs were bounding over the snow towards them, barking out great plumes of frost and wagging, and the riders came close behind in a thundering wave. Their leader was not, of course, the ghost of King Arthur; he was a mortal man, or at least he looked the shape of one, under his shifting green tunic and the antler crown atop his head. 

Alicia gave a breathy little sigh. “He looks like a—”

“Be silent, and maybe they will pass us by,” pleaded Kate. She shivered again, and clasped Alicia tight to her side in the middle of the road as the horses drew near. 

The lead rider paused to gaze down at them from his horse. Kate saw nothing so wild in his dark eyes as they passed over her, but the look she knew; it was as if he saw nothing in the road but the stone and dirt. She glanced around, saw almost all of the riders in the front bore the same antler crown, and her heart sank. It was far more dramatic a revenge than she would have expected from the Lady, to send so many of her people to seize them on the Hunt, but it was another night of their power set against hers, and beside her was only—was only _Alicia._

Who murmured, “Oh!” as the riders came up around them, and curtsied prettily. 

Kate did not _want_ to, not a whit, but the rest of the riders were watching her, and she found herself moving smoothly into the great Queen’s bow almost by instinct. Though she did not—would not—lower her head, looking at the riders’ faces for the cruel cold visage she thought must be there, somewhere—

An unexpected, still quite familiar voice said, “Katherine?”

Kate jerked, and blurted out, “Gwenhyfara?”

The riders parted a little to let a horse through, and it _was_ her, clad in the same short green tunic as the others, and an antler crown atop her long dark hair. She had a bow and quiver slung over her shoulder, and a stone knife at her belt, and for all that Kate had begun to let her memory make Gwenhyfara an ordinary-seeming woman in the Lady’s court, she now looked utterly feral and wild.

“Have you come to join us on the Hunt?” Gwenhyfara smiled, and there was nothing of kindness or kinship in it. 

“Good Lord, no,” said Kate, automatically. But it was _her_ land they stood on now, or near enough to it, and she was committed to seeing the encounter through. She dared a glance up at the leader and tilted her head towards her sister. “Were _you_ calling her out to join you? She isn’t a very good hunter—she faints at the sight of blood, and would rather have a picnic than go chasing after a coney.” 

“It isn’t very fair to the poor creatures, to have so many of you and all the dogs rushing after them,” Alicia protested. 

Gwenhyfara turned her head slightly, and it was as if she saw Alicia for the first time. “Who is she?” 

Kate turned her head, too, and became aware that Alicia stared up at Gwenhyfara, completely fascinated—and not in the manner of a kitten discovering a butterfly. “This is my sister,” said Kate, uncomfortably, although she could not have said why. 

“Is that all you have to wear?” demanded Alicia of Gwenhyfara. “You must be freezing!” She undid the clasp on her heavy, fur-lined cloak to slip it from her shoulders. Kate put out her arm to prevent her stepping out of their sanctuary in the road. Alicia gave her a look that Kate failed entirely to read, and added, “Will you come to me, that I may give you my cloak?” 

Gwenhyfara gazed down at Alicia for a long moment, long enough that Kate had half a worry that she was trying to lay some kind of spell on her sister. But Alicia held fast, even though her cloak must have begun to weigh on her outstretched arms, and eventually, Gwenhyfara said, slowly, “Yes.” 

There was a rustle amongst the riders, but Gwenhyfara held up her hand and slipped gracefully from her horse to the ground. She came across the road lightly, almost as if her feet did not even touch the worn stones; turned to receive Alicia’s cloak about her shoulders, and then turned again to look at the Sutton sisters. 

Despite the strangeness of the contrast between fine cloak and tunic beneath, Gwenhyfara was as poised as ever. Her eyes met Kate’s. “You have told her nothing of us.”

Kate shook her head.

Gwenhyfara raised her eyebrows. “Maybe you should, for it might not be a coincidence that we have met again tonight.” 

“ _Might_ not be?” said Kate, incredulously. “You mean you _really_ weren’t seeking me—us—out?” 

“The Wild Hunt rides where it will,” Gwenhyfara replied. Her smile flickered in the torchlight. “But it is—” she paused, visibly grasping for the right word—“ _nice_ to see you again. And to meet you, pretty lady.” She bobbed a little curtsy to Alicia, who giggled— _giggled!_ and curtsied back. 

Then Gwenhyfara swung back up on her horse, and the dogs bayed and barked, and the horses rushed on, bearing their riders away in pursuit of their ethereal prey. Kate breathed a sigh of relief as she and Alicia stood alone in the road again, with the stars shining clear overhead.

Though—they were not _completely_ alone.

“They left one behind!” exclaimed Alicia, stooping and opening her arms to a small black pup shivering in the cold. “Do you think they will come back for it?” The puppy whined and came crawling towards her; she gathered it up, heedless of what it might do to her fine dressing-gown. 

“Oh, don’t, it probably has fleas,” Kate said, wearily. “Leave it and a rider might come back.” She looked after the Hunt, though, and where there should have been torches gleaming in the distance, there were only the leafless dark shadows of trees. 

“I won’t leave it out to freeze to death,” Alicia protested. “I think your odd friend must have meant it to be for me.” 

Kate sighed. “Then you’ll have to be responsible for its care. And take it with you when you leave. If Gwen—if my _friend_ gave it to you, then it’s yours.” 

“Yes, Kate,” said Alicia. She laid her cheek atop the puppy’s soft head as they walked back towards the manor. “I don’t know what Mother was so worried about; they weren’t frightening at all.” 

Kate opened her mouth and then closed it again. There was nothing she could say in response that would not be a lie. She unclasped her cloak so she could swing a fold of it over Alicia’s shoulders and pulled her close. 

Despite their shared cloak and the puppy squirming in her arms, Alicia’s teeth were chattering by the time they came into the garden; Kate said, “I’ll warm some of that wine for you, don’t go waking Dorothy and Susan—” 

“ _Kate!”_ Christopher shouted, and fairly rushed at them from the gate, a wild light in his eyes. He was clad only in his dressing-gown and half-laced boots, but his dagger was on his belt and his fist was clenched around the worn leather scabbard of his sword. Kate ducked out from under her part of the cloak and ran to meet him halfway, giddy relief pouring over her at the sight of him appearing so absurdly mundane. 

Christopher caught her in his arms and kissed her firmly. “Dear God, Kate, I woke and you were gone—” His breath hitched, and he buried his face against her shoulder. 

Kate pressed a kiss into his thick tawny hair. “I’m all right, truly, it wasn’t even _Her_ , only—only—” 

“We were scarcely gone half an hour,” said Alicia, sounding puzzled. “Had you really thought King Arthur would sweep Kate away on his white horse? It wasn’t white, anyway.” 

Christopher lifted his head. He let go of Kate, looked bemusedly at her sister, and then—looked again. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, what is that?” 

“Kate’s friend gave him to me,” said Alicia, as the puppy licked her nose. 

“Not so much of heaven, I’m afraid,” said Kate, dryly. “But he—all of us—want to come in and get warm instead of standing around here in the snow, Christopher.” He nodded, gestured for Alicia to precede them into the house, and put his arm around Kate again. 

“A hellhound, then?” murmured Christopher into her ear. “Whatever is Alicia going to tell everyone about what— _who—_ she saw?” 

Kate gave a shrug as they crossed the threshold with moonlight at their backs. “If we’re lucky, it will fade in time and become another one of Father’s stories.” 

“And if we’re not?”

In the dim great room, Alicia had settled in a heap in front of the banked fire with the puppy and a bowl of milk, and was coaxing the puppy to lick the milk from her fingers. It was charming, of course, because it was _Alicia_ , and yet it was the singular least graceful thing Kate had ever seen her do. 

“Then I should think Gwenhyfara would like to see what became of her gift,” said Kate. 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays!! I hope you enjoyed this story; it was a lot of fun to write the sisters together :) 
> 
> Thanks to my beta, as always <3


End file.
